Thorne Ashveil walked steadily beside Magellan as they plunged deeper into the bowels of Impel Down. Vice Admiral Yamakaji followed, his hazel eyes scanning every barred gate and shadowy corridor. The air grew noticeably colder the further they progressed. Ashveil, brushing a lock of dark hair from his brow, observed the change—but he did not flinch. Yamakaji, lighting a cigar anew, paused and exhaled a thin plume of smoke, tension etched in every line of his face.
Impel Down truly was a fortress beyond reckoning. Within its massive walls were imprisoned some of the most vicious criminals in the world—locked away so tightly that even rumors feared to slip through. Without this prison, the seas would be consumed by chaos; anarchy waiting just at the surface.
"Here lies the innermost cell," Magellan said, voice low, "home to the Red Count, Redfield. He is one who once stood shoulder to shoulder with Pirate King Roger and Whitebeard Edward Newgate."
Yamakaji swallowed, the weight of those names heavy in his chest. The criminals held in Impel Down were not mere cutthroats; legends, nearly mythic in their power, languished in chains here.
Even the Red Count had been subdued, confined for countless years.
They approached the cell. Through the dim light, through iron bars forged thick and cruel, Ashveil could only make out Redfield's silhouette. Calm. Unmoved. Silent. Yet when Redfield's sharp eyes flicked to Ashveil, a spark of recognition—of surprise—flickered.
Something about Ashveil was not ordinary. Not to Red Count Redfield, whose mastery of Observation Haki had crested to terrifying heights. Through that ability, he sensed power—power reminiscent of Roger, of Whitebeard, perhaps even of Rocks himself.
Magellan led them onward to another cell beyond Redfield's. The gate stood ajar—once belonging to Golden Lion Shiki.
"This will serve," Magellan said quietly, "as Ashveil's cell."
Yamakaji nodded. "Once Ashveil is secured here, our mission is accomplished."
Excitement flickered among the imprisoned as whispers passed in low tones. Golden Lion's old cell. The one from which he once escaped. That alone elevated the cage to legend. Many here believed that to be locked there carried its own kind of honor—a chance at luck, at escape.
Catarina Devon snarled, her voice sharp as steel. "Golden Lion Shiki's prison should go to me. Assigning it to a boy—it's absurd."
"Such a boy," Big Barrel muttered, brows furrowed. "He too worthy of Golden Lion's spot?"
Crocodile offered a mocking smile. "When did these Marines become so careless, to place such faith in so young a punk?"
Douglas Bullet laughed low. "Indeed, what could he have done to merit such ceremony?"
Shiryu of the Rain, once warden, now criminal, leaned forward from his post by the bars. "Tell me, Magellan, what exactly did this brat do to make such waves?"
Magellan's gaze hardened. "Shiryu of the Rain, you are now a criminal. I owe you no explanation."
He raised his voice enough to echo through the corridor. "All of you here—silence!"
Yet the convicts only jeered louder. Their voices, rough and bitter, filled the sixth floor of the Underwater Great Prison. They ridiculed Ashveil, mocked the Marine command, and questioned the sanity of it all.
"He's nothing but a kid!" "Overrated! The Marines have lost their edge!" The words roared like tide against rock.
Ashveil stood apart, expression unreadable. He listened. Observed. No flare of indignation, no rush of anger. He had learned that power often spoke louder than words, that patience ruled more than rage.
As Magellan resumed, Ashveil's eyes traveled to the cell that once housed Ace. The air held lingering echoes—not flames, but memories. Jinbe was not among them. His absence confirmed Ashveil's belief that his plea to the Whitebeard Pirates, asking them to guard Jinbe on Fish-Man Island, had not been in vain.
Ashveil's mind churned. The seas were shifting—Pirate World tilting on its axis, turning toward something new. He would be the fulcrum.
Red Count Redfield, from his cell, watched Ashveil. Not with pity. Not with disdain—but with interest. The young man before him did not tremble. Faced the jeers. Faced the legend. And yet carried something of his own.
Magellan gestured. Silent. Then a guard opened the gate to Golden Lion Shiki's former cell. Ashveil stepped inside. Bars closed behind settling steel. The cold stone floor pressed beneath him as he turned, facing outward, seeing the array of criminals. Their eyes shifted, their minds restless. Many hoped this cage carried more than walls—that it carried fate.
Crimson torchlight danced along the walls, shadows of iron bars casting stripes across his face. If Ashveil felt its chill, he didn't show. He lifted his chin. He embraced the hush.
One voice erupted from among the crowd: "Is this just a show?" Big Barrel's word, sharp and loud. "Why honor him with such cage?"
Catarina Devon's sneer followed. "Perhaps he will prove worthy. Perhaps."
Ashveil's lips tightened, though his features held calm. He recalled his journey here.
Magellan nodded to Yamakaji. "We leave you in the care of Vice Admiral Yamakaji and the guards. Ashveil is to remain here until orders from the Grand Line reach us."
Yamakaji's jaw set. "Understood."
As they turned to depart, Ashveil breathed in the musty, damp air. He glanced at Red Count Redfield's cell once more and saw in that stern face something like respect.
Outside, Magellan's footsteps echoed away. Left behind, Ashveil stood alone among rogues, legends, monsters.
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